


A Decoration, Of Sorts

by mssrj_335



Series: KrampusKinkPrompts2020 [5]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Decorating, Devotion, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Implied Sexual Content, Krampus Kinkathon, M/M, Magic Revealed, POV Finn (Star Wars), Romance, Schmoop, Semi-original Lore, Sex Magic, Sharing a Bed, Soft Finn (Star Wars), Soft Poe Dameron, Submission, Swordfighting, Swordplay as Flirting, Tenderness, Winter Gods, Winter Solstice, kind of a weird vibe, sort of lol - Freeform, they get handsy does that count?, well hints of smut anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:33:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28357047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mssrj_335/pseuds/mssrj_335
Summary: Finn nuzzles Poe’s neck, heart aching. Though less so than it would have ten years ago. Much less so. But the image sets his teeth on edge in a promising way. The answer is clear.“That’s the spell.”“How can you be sure?”“I feel it.” He pauses, lays a hand at the base of Poe’s throat. “Don’t you?”Poe swallows hard and he feels that, too. “I do.”--Finn and Poe are tasked to turn the seasons. Ten years after the defeat of a terrible evil, Poe wants to give their people a gift, of sorts.Written for the krampuskinkathon prompts 'decorating' and 'submission'; aka the huntsman sequel nobody but me asked for :PCan be read as standalone
Relationships: Finn/Poe Dameron, Finnpoe, Poe Dameron/Finn, Stormpilot - Relationship
Series: KrampusKinkPrompts2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2039206
Comments: 13
Kudos: 20
Collections: Krampus Kink-a-thon





	A Decoration, Of Sorts

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Huntsman](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25082542) by [mssrj_335](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mssrj_335/pseuds/mssrj_335). 



> there's a playlist linked for you in the text, if you'd like to listen to what i used when writing, and a moodboard if you'd like to check that out too  
> this is kind of a sequel to another work of mine but i'm pretty sure i put in enough detail that this can be read as a standalone. if you're curious, i linked the other one for you :)

[moodboard](https://mssr-cellophane.tumblr.com/post/638375192425545728/i-wonder-if-the-snow-loves-the-trees-and-fields)

[for your listening pleasure](https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PL2sTQpF-Bo9JFA8Ly14Z9_UIMiu8pwj6S)

* * *

Dawn of Solstice Eve breaks bright and frigid atop the mountain. But just because the sun wakes doesn’t mean all do. Finn, for his part, wakes slowly.

The room, tucked inside a cabin at the mountain’s peak, is warm. To _his_ skin, at least. Drowsy, heavy with sleep and the week’s hard work, Finn turns, twisted on a soft bed of furs and feather. He buries his face in a nearby pillow, reaches across—

Poe isn’t there.

Finn peeks over the pillows and finds the small cabin empty. Hm. He shuffles upright, sniffs the air. Woodsmoke and balsam drift lazy toward him, followed by the scent of cold air in short order. In a corner fireplace burns a small flame, merry and bright if inadequate for the space. He smiles to himself. They don’t need it. Poe hasn’t felt winter’s bite in nearly a decade, and won’t ever again. Finn hasn’t felt it himself in over a thousand years. But still Poe tends the fire. From Fall’s first frost to Spring’s thaw, Poe keeps a light burning bright. The smell itself is enough to warm Finn’s heart. It’s become something of a calling card, wafting on the breeze wherever Poe goes. But while it’s a comforting scent, it’s nothing compared to the man himself.

_Where is he?_

Finn pulls himself out of bed, intent on finding out. Thankfully, he doesn’t have to go far.

Just outside the cabin door, Poe sits on an upended log. Arms crossed over his bare chest, a pipe in one hand, watching the coming dawn. Poe doesn’t turn as he comes out, but leans back into his waiting arms, pillowed gently against his stomach.

“Good morning, [Huntsman](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25082542/chapters/60758491).” Poe tilts back with a smile and a ready kiss.

Finn obliges, murmuring, “Good morning, Keeper,” when they break apart at last.

“Your frost is setting nicely. I passed through the valley and saw it,” Poe says between puffs of his pipe. “It’ll be cold this year, no doubt. The ponds are frozen over, even the river is iced in places.”

He stares down the side of the mountain and Finn follows his line of sight, settling his arms on Poe’s chest, just beneath his throat. “You’ve been busy already,” he muses.

Poe shrugs. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Hm,” is all Finn says. There’s something weighing on Poe’s mind but he doesn’t want to fight for it. All in good time.

“Why did you make it so cold this year?” Poe gently asks. He’s avoiding his own point but still Finn doesn’t push. “You know the villages struggle when the water freezes.”

Finn kisses the top of his head. “I know, love. But sometimes a hard winter is needed. We have to keep the balance, remember? Rose gave them a good harvest this year, they’ll be fine.”

Poe opts for another draw on his pipe and doesn’t deign to respond. Finn knows he’s right though. As always, he helped the Fall Kyrja with her season. Turning the world so the days grew short. Setting a gentle chill to the air at first, helping Rose to ensure a bountiful harvest. Still, the fact doesn’t seem to ease Poe’s mind at all. He could wait longer, but he’s not sure how long it would take for Poe to come around. Stubborn thing. Instead of silence, he opts to simply say,

“You’re troubled.”

Poe sighs, leans more fully against him so Finn shifts with the weight. “You always know, don’t you?”

Finn makes a face that Poe can’t see but judging from the quiet huff he gets, he figures his Keeper has the point. “Maybe not always. But I try.” Gently, he pets a hand through Poe’s wild curls. “So, tell me. What’s wrong?”

“It’s Solstice Eve,” Poe starts slowly, tapping his pipe out on the stump. “For seven days, we’ve collected souls as we do every year. Tomorrow we ride the Hunt, though there is little to hunt anymore. For years, we’ve stayed vigilant and no more evil has come to us. This is our tenth year, do you remember?”

“Yes.” Finn remembers the date, acutely even. Solstice Day, when he was finally made whole again. Ten years since the battle with the Harrow King. Their reclamation of winter. Their reunion, finally complete. “How could I forget?”

Poe reaches back over his shoulder to run a soothing hand down Finn’s chest. “I didn’t think you did,” he murmurs.

“Then what’s wrong?”

“I—I want to give them a gift. But I don’t know how.”

Poe looks back up at him again, dawn making his brown eyes and frosted skin shine. It’s been a slow transition for him into his magic but now Poe’s edges flicker in the sunlight, much like Finn’s own. He’s beautiful. And even after all this time, Finn’s knees feel weak when he says, “Name it. I’ll help you.”

Poe gestures down at the frosted evergreens dotting the mountainside. “You said once, before you died and became the Huntsman, that there was endless winter. Harsh and unforgiving. I see your memories in the way you make winter. When we craft it now, the snows are never too deep. The ice is never too thick. But the cold is bitter some years and the winds ferocious. Never more than the villages can bear, but I think it’s a heavy weight for them at times.”

“Less so now that I have you to temper it,” Finn interjects with a smile. He’s not upset—how could he be—his Keeper certainly has a point. It’s not something he’s noticed before but now that Poe says it, Finn realizes just how true it is.

Poe smiles back. “Someone has to keep you in line. But, I’d like to try something…different.” His tone turns thoughtful again. “And don’t get me wrong, winter can be harsh but…I want to give our people something beautiful. To celebrate.”

“Celebrate…”

“Ten _years,_ Finn!” Poe exclaims, springing from his stump. “And hopefully many more to come! It gives me so much hope, and I know it does for them too. The only souls we reap before the solstice are those that are ready to go. No Harrows, no evil, people aren’t disappearing anymore. You _won_!”

The fervor in Poe’s words almost sets Finn’s blood on fire. It makes his magic crackle under his skin. He steps into Poe’s space and just from the look on his face, Finn can tell the golden color of his magic must be seeping into his eyes. “ _We_ won.”

Poe reaches up, gently swipes a thumb over Finn’s cheek, across the scars there in a familiar gesture. “We did. But you also promised—winter isn’t supposed to be punishing, my love. Not anymore. Remember?”

Finn remembers. “You wanted our season to be something more. A promise of better times to come.”

The old sentiment echoes between them. Poe drops his hand.

“A reminder,” Poe murmurs, “to cherish what we have for as long as we have it.”

Finn can’t help it, he reaches for Poe. Tangles their fingers together and draws him close. “Anything you want. Tell me, what do you want to do?”

“I remember, as a kid, there was one giant snowfall. I don’t know if, if you were feeling generous or if it was an accident, but the snow piled high and stayed for a week at least. It was cold, but not as cold as it could be. The sun was bright, the snow was deep and crisp and beautiful. The Elders played in the snow with us, even Leia. We went sledding all morning, cooked and ate and sang around our fires all night. It brought us such joy and it just… Oh, it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.”

“And you want to give them that?”

Poe nods eagerly, gripping his hands tight, but Finn frowns. Considers. In truth, he’s not sure how to make such a thing. The last snow Poe mentioned had been a fluke, an accident. Created with a deep sense of longing as Finn wandered hill and vale alone, shed of the Kyrja’s company in quiet despair. The snow formed in memory of who he’d loved and lost long before he’d found Poe again. To find that something he’d made actually brought others happiness is…novel. Not what he ever expected.

“I’m not sure I know how,” he honestly says. But when Poe’s face falls, he catches his chin and adds, “Let me think on it, my happiness. I’ll figure out a way.”

That brings Poe’s smile back and really, that’s all Finn would ever ask for. So he thinks while they work. There’s still things to do, the Kyrja are already calling, soft susurrations in the recesses of his mind. Back inside, he pulls his familiar black fur and frigid sword over his shoulders. Watches from the corner of his eye as his Keeper dresses, tempted to lay him back out in their soft bed and take him apart all over again. Finn sighs to himself; later. There will always be later.

Poe mastered the long-step in his first year but he still holds out his hand. Together, they pass through the forest. Evergreens whistle in the breeze they make, frosted leaves crackle underfoot as they hop across the landscape. Down the mountain in a few long steps, across the valley and to the river to find Rey, Jannah, and Rose. From there, they split. The Kyrja each take a direction to suss out any other lost souls before the Solstice. Finn himself takes to the north. Poe, in memory of his mother’s loss, searches the rivers and lakes. And all the while, Finn thinks.

Every winter since he became the Huntsman, Finn’s made the season the same way. Much of the original curse is contained in himself and his sword. Now, Poe shares the burden but that hasn’t changed the way the cold comes to life every year. For Finn, it’s simple. Like Rose, it’s a swing of his sword to bring the season. With it, he lays frost and snow to the ground. Uses a breath to sweep the land with frigid wind. So he wonders. Maybe Poe could use his animal form like Rey? Spread a gentle snow in the shadow of his wings as she spreads the summer sun. No, he’d object to doing it alone. Finn senses, more than anything, Poe wants his help not because he needs it but because he wants his company. And that thought makes Finn warm all over. Well, maybe they should do as Jannah does and craft the season’s first snowflake as she does spring’s first flower. A physical spell. Maybe that has merit? Finn shakes his head, disgusted with himself. It shouldn’t be this hard. Still he wonders. Poe…Poe is so human in so many ways. What he lacks still in magical prowess he makes up for in effort. He’s winter’s warmth and joy. A sweet mortal surrender Finn cherishes beyond any measure. And it’s in that thought, that fullness of his heart, that he finds his answer.

He bides his time, ruminating on an idea. Ferries the dead to the spirit world as he is tasked to do. But when all is finished, he snags Poe’s hand and keeps him back.

“Go on!” Finn calls to the Kyrja. “Tell them we’ll be there later!”

The women wave goodbye and head down to the village. Poe cocks his head. His family and friends—what remain of them—are waiting to celebrate the Solstice together.

“We’ll join them soon,” Finn answers the question in Poe’s eyes, “but first, I thought we’d make their gift.”

A smile splits Poe’s face and Finn drags him away into the forest.

When they come to a familiar clearing, Poe wanders out in front, turning in circles, staring at the stars peeking at the edge of the evening’s pink sky. “We haven’t been here for a while,” he muses.

“You relearned how to fight here.” _We had our first kiss here_. “I thought it would be a good place to find the magic we need. Spar, jog our memories a bit.”

“True.” Poe turns back to him, his smile taking a sentimental edge as he sidles closer, and Finn knows he’s been made. His Keeper draws his sword, black blade shining like starlight. “Let’s see what you remember.”

Poe dashes at him, swinging his sword high over his head. It’s an obvious ploy and it gives Finn time enough to pull a matching matte blade. Steel rings, a blast of frost and wind sweeps through the clearing. From there, it’s just a dance. Quick. Not lethal, not vicious. But known. Carrying on from one end of the clearing to other, pitting strength and subtlety, wonderfully evenly matched.

Their blades clash, Poe grins behind the cross of them. “Come on, is that the best you can do?”

“I’m just enjoying the view,” Finn teases, straining. “The only time you look better is in my bed.”

Poe wets his lip but shoves. “I see those golden eyes. Show me what your magic can do.” 

Finn huffs, staggers a bit, panting. Well, if it’s magic Poe wants… He takes a deep breath and draws his focus. Steps forward, his Keeper steps back. Poe’s blade flashes starlight in the dying day, his does not. Poe strikes up, left—Finn flows with the motion. Circles the tip of Poe’s sword to push him away. Grabs his wrist, pulls him off balance. It’s just the opening Finn needs. A twist and a yank, Poe’s disarmed, stumbling past and whirling back with a look of surprise. 

Everything grinds to a halt. Poe’s chest heaves, his curls in wild disarray. Finn faces him with both blades, intent on taking his surrender but the last vestiges of light cling to Poe’s skin and illuminate something new.

“Your eyes…” Finn lowers their swords, drawn forward, hoping the light will catch again. Poe tilts his head. Oh— “Poe, your _eyes_.”

He shifts nervously. “What about them?”

“They’re…silver.”

All of Poe’s magic has finally taken hold. His eyes have changed, glowing silver in the gloom. This is it, this is _perfect_. The answer clicks, a sudden inevitable jolt. Finn drops their swords in the dirt and falls to his knees.

“I yield.”

“What?”

“I yield.”

Poe frowns. “Finn, I don’t understand.”

“I figured out what we have to do,” Finn explains, taking Poe’s hands when he comes closer but staying firmly on his knees. “To make this gift, to decorate with that snowfall you remember, I have to surrender. Winter must be yours this year. Ours, of course, but it has to be you. Your magic. And you’ve finally found it all.”

Poe takes a sharp breath. “Finn—”

“How else could something so beautiful come to be?” Poe flattens a hand on his cheek, a soft reprimand, and Finn leans into it. “It won’t come by my blade or my breath. You’ve helped me these last ten years, but I can’t make something like that without you.”

“So what do I have to do?”

“I don’t know.” Finn shrugs. He catches Poe’s silver eyes, absolutely entranced. “But we can figure it out together.” He tugs at Poe’s wrist. “Come sit with me.”

Poe sighs, like he doesn’t really understand, but he obliges. He’s humoring him so far, and Finn gets it. Poe likes to have a plan. He’s intuitive, yes. Quick on his feet and good in a fight. But when it comes to _feeling_ , he gets too far into his head. And perhaps that’s the problem. Still, Poe sinks in front of him. Finn leans back to sit, spreading his knees wide for Poe to fit between them.

“How’m I supposed to do this?”

His magic pulls at Finn’s heart; Poe doesn’t even notice. It’s hard to think. Finn smiles, more to himself than anything else since his Keeper can’t actually see him. He shuffles closer, pressing into Poe’s back, threading their hands together.

“You’re overthinking it, love. Do you remember how you called your sword’s magic the first time?”

“We were here,” Poe murmurs. “You told me to reach out. Feel.”

Finn hooks his chin over his Keeper’s shoulder, suddenly desperate for all the contact he can find. He buries his face in Poe’s hair and the woodsmoke scent of his magic. “So do that again. Close your eyes.”

Poe draws a breath, Finn feels it stuttering in his chest. “Ok…”

“Tell me what you feel. There must be a spell, you only need to find it,” he whispers against Poe’s ear.

“You…” Poe leans back into him with a different kind of sigh. One that aches and yearns. “I feel you more than anything. The cold bite of your magic, the grave-soil smell of it.” Finn rubs his hands down Poe’s arms, encouraging. “I smell the frost we laid, animals farther away. Cold and forest decay.”

Finn can’t help himself. He lowers his legs, circles his arms around Poe’s chest and draws him tighter still. “What do you see?”

He feels Poe’s frown. “I don’t see anything, my eyes are closed.”

“No,” he chuckles, pushing the fur off Poe’s shoulders, pressing kisses there, his neck. “What do you _see?_ In your mind. When you think about winter, what you want it to be, this gift you want to give. It should all come to a single point. What does it look like?”

Poe ponders that for a moment, and Finn tries not to be terribly distracting. He stills. Waits, even though Poe’s magic plucks at his blood and makes it run hot and wild.

“It’s a plant, growing on a bush of holly. Evergreen leaves, white berries, I’ve never seen it before. It’s covered in snow. Pieces so big I can see each snowflake in detail.”

“Mistletoe,” he murmurs. “It hasn’t grown here in a thousand years. Not since—”

“No, not since our first Parting.”

Finn nuzzles Poe’s neck, heart aching. Though less so than it would have ten years ago. Much less so. But the image sets his teeth on edge in a promising way. The answer is clear.

“That’s the spell.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I feel it.” He pauses, lays a hand at the base of Poe’s throat. “Don’t you?”

Poe swallows hard and he feels that, too. “I do.”

Finn stares down at the ground in the dark, watching the earth turn under the moonlight. From his lashes, he guesses Poe’s eyes are still closed. He hasn’t seen his own magic at work yet. Which means Finn is the first witness. Fortunate enough to feel the ebb and flow of his Keeper’s magic, at its full power beneath the moonlight. Finn can barely focus himself, so caught is he, but it must be finished. Only one step left.

He kisses Poe’s neck again, looking down the line of his body like he had the mountainside: in quiet awe. “Do you have the picture strong in your mind?”

“Yes.”

He tongues the edge of Poe’s ear, sucks the lobe of it between his teeth. When Poe gasps and pushes back into him, digging fingers into his thighs, he asks, “Do you have the spell?”

“It’s kind of difficult when you’re doing _that_ ,” Poe groans, Finn’s fingers finding their way down his chest to the waist of his leathers.

“You have to finish it.”

Poe draws a deep breath, trying to focus. His magic tenses the air around them. Where their skin touches, Finn feels a spark skittering. He relaxes his shoulders, leans back and pulls Poe with him. Opens himself so Poe can use him, his magic, “Whatever you need. Take it from me.”

One more step, just the spell, and Finn can take Poe home. Kneel at the altar of Poe’s body and worship. Bask in his new power. Share the season they’ve made, surrender at last. Poe seems to sense his thoughts, his magic digging into Finn’s own, burrowing deep and laying its roots in his bones. As it does, a holly bush peeks from the earth. Finn’s hands itch to get under Poe’s clothes; he barely keeps himself in check.

“Have you found it?” His voice sounds harsh, even to his own ears.

Blindly, Poe gropes backwards. Fixes a frost-heavy hand in Finn’s and arches against him. “I think.”

“Say it.”

“ _Made with words our tongues would sow, for love, my love, bring us snow._ ”

The holly springs forth with a crack, mistletoe heavy in its limbs. Poe jerks, eyes wide, chest heaving in Finn’s hands. Fat snowflakes spiral up in a phantom wind from the holly boughs, streaking like frigid lightning across the sky. Then when all is quiet and the world seems to hold its breath—only then—does it start to snow.

“You did it…”

Poe twists in his grasp, silvery eyes wide.

“You did it,” Finn repeats, grins. For the death of him, he can’t think of anything else to express his joy.

For a long moment, Poe is stupefied. And so is he. Then Poe’s scrambling into his lap, pushing him down into frost-bitten grass. Poe peels him out of his clothes in the bright moonlight. Kisses with all the heat of the fire he keeps, intent on taking Finn apart under the shadow of holly and mistletoe. He vaguely thinks of home. Or Poe’s village. But with the Poe surrounding him, whatever plans he had before are long forgotten. Finn sighs under Poe’s lips; later.

For them, there will always be later.

Dawn of Solstice Day breaks bright and frigid atop the mountain. Finn, for his part, wakes slowly. Tucked into a cocoon of warmth he doesn’t need but thoroughly enjoys. Drowsy, heavy with sleep and the remains of sweet mortal surrender, Finn turns, twisted on a soft bed of furs and feather. He buries his face in a nearby pillow, reaches across—

Poe’s there.

Finn peeks over the pillows and finds Poe watching, eyes dark once more. Woodsmoke and balsam drift lazy toward him, followed by the scent of cold air in short order. Poe’s magic, permeating in the room. In a corner fireplace burns a small flame, merry and bright if inadequate for the space. He smiles, for Poe this time. They don’t need it. His Keeper still tends the fire.

“Come outside with me, come see.”

He lets Poe pull him from bed. Slips outside behind him. Wordless, for a moment, wrapping Poe in his arms as the sight steals his breath. At last, he says, “Oh, my happiness, look what you’ve made.”

Snow piles high, crisp and even. A soft hush lays over the land, the sun shines bright, but the chill has eased. It’s beautiful. Poe turns a little in his grip, just enough so Finn can see his smile.

“Quite a decoration, isn’t it?”

Finn chuckles, absently petting Poe’s stomach. “It is. A beautiful gift. We should do this every year.”

“And the mistletoe,” Poe smirks. “I like any excuse to kiss you.”

“We’ll have to take some to the village and teach them that trick, I’m sure Snap will love it.”

Poe laughs quietly, turns pensive back to the snow. Finn, for his part, is content right where he is. Happy enough to hold Poe for as long as he wants. What he doesn’t expect is the gentle wonder tinging Poe’s voice when he says, “I wonder if the snow loves the trees and fields, that it kisses them so gently…”

“It does.” He lays a soft kiss on Poe’s cheek. “It loves them because I love you.”


End file.
